Wake Me Up When September Ends
by EvanescentBeauty
Summary: Friendships are lost, lives are threatened, and loves are ended...yes, you heard right. As a post 911 team tries to regain control over their lives, who will remain standing after the dust has cleared? Wuddy, Chameron and character death.
1. Welcome to Hell

**A/N:** PLEASE READ!!!!!! THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT!!!

This story is not so much a 9/11 fic, but more of an angst-comfort-hurt story. Sort of a regain-control-over-your-life sort of story. It will not really focus on the political or historical aspects of 9/11, more of the emotional stuff.

Since this is a very sensitive topic for many people, let's just get these three things out in the open right now.

**1)** _YES_; I understand that none of the Ducklings worked for House in 2001, but let's just SAY THEY DID.

**2)** _NO_; I was not in New York, New Jersey, or even on the East Coast when 9/11 occurred.

**3)** _NO_; I did not have any family members/friends/colleagues get trapped, killed, hurt, wounded or really _personally _affected or anything like that in 9/11.

So, I just wanted to say this because it really is exhausting to have to listen to you guys bitch about how it's innacurate. Am I looking for familiarity of friendly faces in a dire time like 9-11? I don't know. In fact, I don't really know why I'm writing this... I just have a strange passion for American history, and I wanted to vent a little bit of emotion on the 6 year anniversary of this event. Please don't be cruel. I'd like it lots more if you critiqued my _WRITING _instead of my INTENTIONS or whatever.

* * *

_Ringggg!!!!_

_Ringggg!!!!_

_RINGGGG!!!!_

House rolled over in bed... truly exhausted as the phone rang in the that shrill, trilling way that it always did when he was suppoed to be waking up. It was 9:30 in the morning. This was the third time the phone had rung in the last half hour. Again, the caller decided to leave a message. It was Wilson.

"House? Get up off your lazy ass and pick up the phone. I know you're there. You need to pick up the phone _right now. _You need to get to work... if you haven't already seen... for God's sake, House... just get to work already."

BEEP.

House laid there in a mess of his twisted bedsheets for several minutes in silence. The little colon on his automatic clock flashed, signaling every torturous second that he laid there, wishing for nothing but sleep. After about five minutes, House groaned and sat up straight in bed. Perhaps it was in everybody's best interest if he just got up now. He swung himself over the side of the bed, his head spinning with the blood that had been congealing in his butt ever since he laid down to sleep. He massaged his leg... it was hurting a lot today, for reasons he couldn't understand. He popped two Vicodin and stood up, grabbing his cane.

* * *

_8:45 AM, Dr. House checks in. _

At least, that was what House wrote in the log as he walked into the clinic that morning, even though it was 9:47. But as he walked into the building, no one was there. It was the creepiest feeling he had ever felt. No nurses, no doctors... no patients at all. Not even Cuddy was there, patrolling the hallways like a hawk. Slightly unnerved, he limped over to the elevator, clicked the 'up' button, and let it lift him up.

As soon as he came in through the doors of his office, he saw that Chase, Cameron and Foreman were not pining over a file, and the coffee filter package lay untouched, sitting neatly in it's rightful place in the cupboard. They weren't doing any of the normal things House expected them to do or say when he walked in three hours late to work. They were watching House's small television. For a split second, House thought that the ducklings had finally taken after him in his "No-work" attitude, when he saw the looks on their faces. Cameron's face was streaked with tears, and her shoulders were shaking, Chase's eyes looked a bit watery, but he had yet to succumb to tears, Foreman looked severly distraught.

"Where have you been?" asked Chase tonelessly, almost robotically.

"Where the hell do you think I was?" snapped House grouchily. "I was sleeping! It's what comes _after _you stay up till two in the morning trying to figure out a case!"

Cameron held up a hand to quiet him.

"What's going on?" asked House. He could barely see the small screen from how the three were sitting.

"It's New York City," said Foreman blankly. "The World Trade Center."

"Yeah, big buildings... 'Twin Towers'... big deal. Any cases?"

"House," snapped Foreman, looking at him like he had just done something extremely offensive, which he had in fact done.

"What?" snapped House. "Will someone please just--"

"You haven't heard?" breathed Cameron. House, wild-eyed with frustration, glared over at her. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"At 8:45, a plane hit one of the towers," she said. House paused for a moment, before letting out a slightly derisive laugh.

"What kind of an _idiot _of a pilot would run a plane into the World Trade Center?" he laughed.

"He wasn't an idiot," said Cameron.

"Well of course _you _would think that, Miss The-World-Is-Always-Perfect. The guy was probably high," said House, trying to maintain his stubborn composure. "You can't trust any airline these days."

"He wasn't high," said Chase. "It was all planned."

"Great, so this is what happens when the _pilots _decide to boycott...Jesus..."

"They aren't boycotting," sniffed Foreman. "And he's not high either... or drunk, even thought that's what we all thought," said Foreman. "But, fifteen minutes later, another plane hit the other tower."

There was dead silence.

"The planes were hijacked."

House felt the blood draining from his head, and he wavered for a moment, before making the first decision that came to his mind.

* * *

He burst through the door of the office. Wilson's office.

"Wilson!" he called angrily. Wilson was doing the same thing that the rest of them were doing... he was hunched over a small television, and his face was streaked with tears. His hand was covering his mouth, his elbow perched on his knee. House expected Wilson to start wailing on him for not picking up his phone, but he said nothing. Neither of them did. It was the two smoking buildings on the screen that had him not saying anything. So it was all true.

"Cameron says they were hijacked," House whispered. Wilson sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know..." Wilson breathed. "It seems the whole world's gone upside-down."

"What about your precious, tumor-ridden patients?" asked House.

"I've given them all their medications... Cuddy's shut down the hospital for today," said Wilson.

"Just because--"

"Can't you at least try to show some actual human emotions for once in you life?" snapped Wilson, rounding on House.

"I am being who I am," snarled House. "When did this all start?"

"The first plane hit at 8:45," said Wilson grudgingly.

"What's going to happen?" asked House.

"I don't know, House."

"What's..."

But he trailed off as his eyes fell again to the towers and fully comprehended what he was now seeing-- Debris had been flying out of the towers, papers and supplies, and black figures. He finally had realized what the dark figures were.

"Oh my God," whispered Wilson, beginning to sob quietly. "This is unreal..."

House said nothing, but the two of them jumped as there was a knock on the door. Wilson wiped the tears from his face.

"Come in," he said.

It was Cuddy who emerged from the doorway, looking in worse condition than Wilson and Cameron put together.

"House," she said, slightly suprised. "Wilson said he couldn't get a hold of you."

"I got up," replied House simply. Cuddy wiped a single tear from her face.

"I guess you've heard, then."

Houes nodded, looking back at the TV set, when a horrible thought hit him.

"What happens if there are more?"

Wilson looked up at him.

"More what?" asked Cuddy.

"More planes."

Cuddy looked severely frightened at this morbid comment, but Wilson said, "There have been two already... the towers are down. They've done their job."

"Well, I'm sure that's what everyone thought after the first tower, but--"

"_No _one knew what to think after the first tower!" exclaimed Cuddy, slightly hysterically.

"Fine, but that's not the point!" snapped House, irritated. "What if more planes have been hijacked? What if the next planes are headed for the Capitol building, or the White House? What if they've planned all of these planes at the same time to start mass hysteria in the U.S.?"

"Always trying to make it into a puzzle, aren't you, House?" scoffed Wilson.

"It's not a puzzle! It makes sense!"

"House, two planes have just been hijacked and blown into the Twin Towers on an alledgedly beautiful day, hundreds of people are burning and jumping to their deaths and life in New York has pretty much been completely stalled. None of this _makes sense_," growled Cuddy.

"I'm not saying it was _good _logic," snapped House. "But they could have been planning this for years! I doubt something this well-planned could have been devised overnight."

"I dunno," said Wilson. "You'd think Air Traffic Control would have stopped all the planes by now... forced them all to make emergency landing."

"If planes are hijacked, you think terrorists are going to make an emergency landing?" asked House.

"Yeah," cut in Cuddy. "And I heard one of the planes wasn't even headed for the East Coast... they were headed for San Francisco, and they turned it around."

Wilson, House, and Cuddy all looked at the television screen in silence, before House turned to the door and began to walk.

"Where are you going?" asked Cuddy.

"To see if my team needs me."

Cuddy and Wilson exchanged looks of indentical thoughts. House had never cared about if his team had needed him. In fact, he had barely cared about his team ever, but today was different. Today-- just as Cuddy had said -- life everywhere had been stalled. Today, the world sat in silence --- in grief, in terror -- but in silence. Today was not like any other day.

"What if he's right?" asked Cuddy, turning to Wilson, after House had left the room.

"Then," sighed Wilson. "We're all f---ed."


	2. The Final Blow

**A/N:** You know how authors often draw from their own experiences? Well, the freaky thing is, the question that House asks himself in the first couple of paragraphs was the one question I asked myself back in third grade. I was walking down to the office, and I saw this little poster someone had put up of the Twin Towers, saying "We Will Never Forget", or something like that. And I said, "I wonder if we will remember this day in five years."

Well, six years later, we have. And I still remember asking myself that question.

I haven't forgotten.

* * *

Everything was a freakish blur as House walked out of Wilson's office. Everything seemed so surreal... this kind of thing was the sort of thing that happened in movies... in horror stories. Now, he and everyone else around him was watching history-- real, true history-- unfolding right before their eyes, and House didn't know what to do. Hundreds of questions zoomed through his head... one of the most prominent, foreboding ones was pricking at his subconcious.

What was today? Oh, he could barely remember... everything was so confusing. Today was... the elventh. September 11th.

September 11th, 2001. In two years, five years, twenty years... would people still remember this day? Would people say, _"Yes, I rememer September 11th." _Or would it gain some new name? "_Yes, I remember the WTC attacks_"...Would it be like Pearl Harbor, where people would say, "_Yes, I remember the Twin Towers_."

As House pushed open the door to his office, he snuck a look at his watch. It was 9:55. He looked over at the ducklings. Chase and Cameron were still stuck in the same position, but Foreman had decided to get himself some coffee, but the steaming cup was still completely full, and Foreman looked like he would like nothing more than to _not _drink it.

"Any news?" asked House.

"Nothing new..." said Foreman in a raspy voice.

House looked over at the TV screen, where the two smoking buildings were still standing. Suddenly, House peered closer.

"Wait a minute..." he said, leaning in closer. "Turn it up..."

"What are you talking about, House?" whispered Cameron, still crying.

"It's falling! It's falling!" shouted House, his hands on his head.

"No!" shrieked Cameron, one hand over her heart, one hand over her face as the south tower collapsed. It looked like a huge sheet of smoke was wiping the tower out of existence. Eyes wide with horror, House sat in silence while Cameron broke into hysterical sobs in Chase's arms, who had also succumbed to tears.

They would later find out that another plane had hit the Pentagon in D.C. only 20 minues before.

About a half-hour later, the last tower fell...

But none of them said anything for a long, long time.

None of them had to.

* * *

**A/N:** I thought it was a nice place to end it. More chapters to come. Tell me if you want them... via review, of course!!! 


	3. A New Day

**A/N:** PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm terribly sorry to say that I have the skeltal design of this story planned out... and it is a lot-- and I mean, _**A LOT**_-- darker than I had originally planned. I swear, I mean it's gonna be, like, Shakespeare sad. No, there will not be multiple suicides or anything, but it will be dark, depressing... If you guys are up to it, I will be glad to share this creation with you.

Also, this story may now include small bits of Houron, but I'm sorry to say it won't be the kind that Houron fans like. It's gonna be the realistic kind. Like on the SHOW. You'll see what I mean later on. This story is Wuddy and Chameron all the way.

* * *

The days proceeding September eleventh seemed to draw out for an eternity... but when House would finally lay down in his bed, setting his cane next to the bedside table, popped his final Vicodin to keep him satisfied for the night, he would realize that the day had gone by freakishly fast.

However, things had begun to slowly go back to normal over the next few days:

Cuddy reopened the clinic on Wednesday afternoon when she was told --most forcefully and uncharacteristicly by House-- that the world did not stop for all the sick people when the healthy people felt a bit faint with greif.

TV's were no longer kept on during the day once people realized and got sick of the fact that the only thing they would see was the same smoking Ground Zero with people phoning in telling the same horrible tales or how sad they felt.

_"Like the world cares," _House had sniped coldly. _"Like the world cares what Mary Sue Evans or John Smith or whoever has to say."_

Cameron had managed to stop crying every time House was stupid enough to let them take a 10-second thinking buffer or let her look into a microscope for test results, giving Cameron time to swing back into the groove of turning into blubbering tears when she'd let her mind wander. House pounded them with cases (some pointless, some legit) and even Cuddy was giving the entire team more clinic duty than usual.

House had barely even spoken to Wilson since that Tuesday, and Cuddy no longer came to him until House tried to pull something so outrageous that she had to intervene.

Sometimes she believed he was just doing it to make her angry.

Sometimes she was right.

It was around six o' clock on Friday evening that House finally came into Wilson's office, who was sitting at his desk, immerseed in files. Wilson looked up.

"You need a consult?" he asked blankly. House shook his head.

"Do you need my medical advice on anything?" asked Wilson. House shook his head again.

"Lunch money?" sighed Wilson bleakly.

House gave Wilson the smallest smile he could have imagined. House limped slowly over to the window, where he stared out at the angrily swirling fog that was only slightly starting to blow away.

"It's too miserable a time to be so beautiful outside," House commented. Wilson cocked an eyebrow.

"Deep... that's very un-you."

"God," added House as way of an explanation. "He's taunting us."

"God did not cause those attacks," sighed Wilson, not wanting to talk philosophy with his friend at the moment.

"But then-- apparently-- it's 'God' who gets all the credit when a family member walks out of the dust and smoke alive. But when they find the corpse of--"

"House!" snapped Wilson. House looked over at him.

"Show some respect, for God's sake," growled Wilson incredulously.

"Oh, for _God's_ sake?" scoffed House. "He obviously didn't give a crap enough to _prevent _these attacks... he doesn't have any respect for those people who _died _in those attacks. So why should _we _show them respect for _his _sake?"

"And why did God allow the Civil War? The Holocaust?" sneered Wilson sarcastically. "Bad things happen in this world, House, and people still believe in God. They've got to have a reason."

"Excuses from religious people are useless. All they do is whip out their Bibles or Torahs or Korans and start babbling off to you in the Shakespeare's english," House said. "Half the time they don't even know what they're saying..."

"It's called faith, House."

"You're Jewish."

"What's your point?"

"You don't start whipping out your Koran when you want to make a point."

"We don't read the Koran, you moron," growled Wilson, rolling his eyes.

"And why don't you do this?" asked House. "Because you're educated. You actually know enough true fact to argue your point in a logical way. The only reason people expect other people to accept scripture as an excuse is because--"

"House, what do you want?" snapped Wilson. "I'm busy. If all you came in here for was to bitch about philosophy then you can leave. I've got better ways to piss away my time."

House sighed.

"Dinner. Tonight. My place."

Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"You interested?" asked House.

Wilson paused for a moment, before saying, "No, House."

"Why not?"

"I'm busy."

"Doing what?" House asked.

"None of your business," said Wilson with a mirthless chuckle.

"You never say that. So either you have developed a strong hatred and or strong distrust of me in the past four days-- in which case I can fully understand, or... whatever you're doing instead... you're embarrassed by it."

"I'm not embarrased by anything, House."

"You're _lying_."

"Or maybe I just want some time to myself!"

"You said you were busy."

"I was _lying_," sneered Wilson.

"Oh, so now you're Mister Withdrawl?" laughed House. "Stay-five-feet-away-and-you-won't-get-run-over type attitude?"

"Don't quote me keychains," snapped Wilson irritably, putting on his jacket to leave.

"Then tell me the truth.

"No."

House limped after Wilson as the oncologist walked down the hall.

"You're not going to follow me all the way home?" sighed Wilson.

"I just may, Jimbo, if you don't tell me where you're going."

"Home?" suggested Wilson bleakly.

"You aren't embarrassed by going home... unless there's someone meeting you there!" House stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. "There is, isn't there!"

Wilson cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you going to make your point?" sighed Wilson.

"Lemme guess... there's a certain Soon-to-be-the-fourth-Ex-Mrs.-Wilson at your house, isn't there?"

"No!" cried Wilson. "Only you would expect some sort of argument to be rational!"

"It doesn't have to be rational, it just has to be a reason."

"House, what happened on Tuesday affected us all... sometimes you just have to give people their space."

House followed Wilson with his blue eyes as the man walked out of the clinic and into the chilly night air.

* * *

Wilson stopped as soon as he turned the corner. He hid next to the hedge as he watched House limp over to his bike and drive off. Wilson sighed. He was tired of having to do this. After House had driven out of sight, he walked back into the clinic. A nurse in purple scrubs stared at him peculiarly.

"Don't ask," muttered Wilson. The nurse smiled knowingly and walked away.

Within the space of a few short minutes, Wilson found himself at the door of Cuddy's office. He pushed open the door and saw her sitting there.

"Cuddy?"

She turned around in her chair. Wilson was shocked to see that her face was streaked with tears.

"Are you okay?" he asked, hurrying up to her.

"I'm fine..." she sighed gloomily, brushing a lock of curly brown hair out of her eyes. "It's nothing..."

Wilson knelt down and sat in one of the chairs.

"I know Tuesday affected us all," he began soothingly.

"Oh, I'm not crying about that!" she cried, almost agitated. Wilson blinked.

"Then... what are you...?"

Cuddy wiped the tears from her face and sighed out a sob.

"It's not worth it," she sobbed quietly. "I can't even... I just don't even want to... I just... I don't know..."

"What's wrong?" asked Wilson, now very worried. "What happened?"

Cuddy sighed, "I just had an implantation... this is my fourth time. Maybe I just need to accept the fact that I'm not meant to be a mother."

Wilson didn't know what to say.

"Cuddy," he said tentatively. "I'm sorry... but just because you didn't get pregnant now doesn't mean it can't ever happen."

"I'm tired of playing games, James," she growled inwardly. "I just need to stop kidding myself."

"You're not playing games," he said softly. "You can keep trying."

"Sometimes, things just don't work out," she hissed into her hands.

"I'm sorry, Lisa," said Wilson softly, putting his hand on her knee. Suddenly, he became very aware and akward of where he had placed his hand, and he withdrew it slightly. He gave her a small smile.

"Me too."


	4. Problems

**A/N:** Okay, this is when things start to get dark... _start _to, mind you.

* * *

_8:43 PM._

Allison Cameron didn't move a muscle as Chase walked past her in House's office. She was sitting, her chin rested on her forearms, which were folded on the table, as she stared off into the darkening New Jersey sky. She hadn't cried for over two hours. It was practically a record. She felt Chase sitting down next to her... she still didn't move.

"Cameron?"

No answer. Not from her.

"Allison? Are you okay?"

_Am I okay? Do __**you **__think I'm okay? Am I? I don't know. I really don't._

"Allison..."

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. It was only then that she realized how cold her arm was. After all, she only had a little Fall sweater on... it wasn't exactly thick, but it had seemed a whole lot colder in the past few days. Oddly enough, it was only she who seemed to think it was cold. She knew. She knew because House would yell at her for turning the heat up at noon.

"I know you're scared... we're all scared. And I know what you're thinking."

_You don't know what I'm thinking. Puh-sha._

"I know you're scared of more planes coming to Jersey..."

_It's been four days. I doubt they're coming to a little hospital in Princeton, jackass. _

_Okay, that was mean. _

"But it's no reason to hide up here in House's office all day."

_Shut your face. This is practically the only place I feel at home. Can't you just shut up and hold my hand? Hold __**me?**_

"Look... let's go... let's go back to my place. You can pick the movie."

_That's so nice of you... but I don't want a movie... I just want to be with you..._

"Ally?"

She couldn't ignore the sweet little nickname that always made her go weak at the knees. She looked up and was met by his beautiful green eyes.

"Ok," she heard herself say.

She got up and walked to the door with him, her hand in his. As the continued down the hall he put an arm around her shoulder. She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder as they exited the building. It was a nice feeling, and Cameron knew that she was going to be okay in his arms. But something didn't feel right. What it was, she couldn't tell... couldn't feel...

* * *

Cuddy turned the corner of the office and watched as Wilson came out with her.

"Listen," said Wilson slowly. "I just want you to know that you can't give up hope."

She sighed and touched her temples gently with the tips of her fingers.

"I don't think it's so much 'giving up' as... just letting nature take its course," she pointed out.

"Lisa."

Cuddy looked up. Wilson had never used her first name before.

"You are meant to be a mother," he said. "Only a mother-- only a young, foolish mother would try so hard at something like this."

Cuddy chuckled gently, but Wilson's face hardened.

"Cuddy?" he said, leaning in. "Are you okay?"

As a matter of fact, she did feel a bit light-headed all of a sudden, and a bit confused.

"Yeah..." she said slowly, vaguely. Wilson's eyes widened.

"Cuddy?" he said, louder. "Your... your smile is crooked!"

She felt her lips... one side was drooping down significantly.

"I don't undershtand what'll..." she paused. Her speech... it was slurring. She looked at Wilson's name tag. _Jiumez Walkons. _His name wasn't "Jiumez Walkons"... the letters were all jumbled up... There was only one explanation. She was having a stroke.

"Get a nurse..." she moaned, before falling down onto the cold, hard lineolum. The last thing she saw was Wilson's worried face silhouetted against the bright lights.


	5. And It's Not Even Morning Yet

**A/N:** Alright, as you can see, I started off the beginning of this chapter in Cuddy's POV and then changed it back to normal. Just thought it would make a better... impression? Yes, I guess that's the word. Bon appetit.

* * *

_3:31 AM. _

"Cuddy."

"_Cuddy_."

God that's annoying. Who keeps calling my name? Why are they calling my name? Why are they even talking to me at all when I'm trying to sleep? I feel a hand on my arm... it shakes me. Its trying to be gentle, but all it comes across as is annoying. I try to shake it off, but I find that my arms are cemented to my sides... I can't move. I feel my face scrunch up ever so slightly as I try to open my eyes. It's a lot harder than it seems.

"Lisa?" calls the voice again. It's long, echo-y and golden-sounding. Somehow, the voice has gone from annoying to soothing and familiar. I smile.

"Yes."

Ha_ha_! I talked! I said something!

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, it seems as though an invisible rope has been cut and my eyes shoot open from the pressure I've been building up on them to open. It is extremely bright.

"Turn down the goddamn lights," I hiss, tossing my head from side to side to somehow get rid of the light.

"Nurse, the lights," says the voice. I look over at the man who is talking to me as the room becomes significantly darker.

"Wilson?" I whisper.

"Yeah," he answers. "It's me. You're at Princeton-Plainsboro."

"Where's... why am I here?" I whisper, as more objects in the room become more apparent. It's dark out, but not one of those late-night darknesses. I can feel the exhaustion emanating from everything in the room. It's early in the morning.

Hey, I'm right. The clock reads 3:56.

"You're in the ICU," says Wilson. I look up at him, and he's extremely worried.

"Why?" I ask, brushing my hair out of my face. Wilson looks down at the ground.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You... Cuddy, you had a stroke," he says grimly.

My eyes widen, and I shrink back from him slightly. I don't know what to say.

"We got an MRI of your head only about an hour ago... and we found this."

I watch as he withdraws an X-ray from a manilla folder and sticks it to a contrast lightboard. It's a brain. _My _brain. But... that can't be my brain. There's a tumor in that brain. A... a very large tumor. One that looks inoperable. That can't be my brain. My brain doesn't have tumors in it.

"That's not mine," I say foolishly. I realize this fact only mere seconds after I've said it. "I mean," I cough slightly, embarrassed my childish words. "Th-that can't be mine. I haven't--"

"Cuddy, I'm so sorry," Wilson cuts in softly, almost inaudibly. "But we got another MRI of your torso to check for any other tumors...and we found this."

He withdraws another X-ray, showing my lungs. There's another large tumor in the left lung.

"What the hell?" I whisper, sitting up in bed.

"It looks like you had lung cancer that metastisized to your brain," says Wilson. "We did a CT scan to confirm both tumors, and we might be able to get the lung tumor out, but the one in your head..." his voice trails away. I look up at him expectantly, though I already know what he's going to say. I don't want to hear it... I want him to leave me alone, but... I _want_ to hear it. I need to. Like somehow, I'm overreacting. He has his hands in his pockets as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

"We can't get rid of the one in your brain, Lisa."

I don't cry. I don't flinch. I don't do anything. In fact, all I can think about right now is about the fact of how beautiful his eyes are. My _God_, they are goregous. And they are filled with so much pain right now... so much sympathy for me. I can't bear to look at them, but I can't draw myself away.

"You understand what this means?" he says, reaching out and touching my forearm gently. A tingling warmth starts to spread from the spot where his fingertips lie. "Lisa, the tumor in your head is inoperable."

"I know," I manage to say.

"You have terminal brain cancer."

We sit in silence together for a long time before he stands up. I grab his hand. He turns back around.

"Wait," I say softly. "Can you stay here...? For a while?"

He looks at me oddly, like he can't tell if I'm serious. Then he makes his decision.

"Alright."

* * *

_3:30 AM_

"And as God as my witness, I'll never be hungry again!"

Cameron sighed, cuddled up close to Chase in his arms as the red and black lights flashed across the screen. _What the hell does that mean, anyway? _thought Cameron miserably to herself as the recently-humbled character in the movie crumpled into the dirt of her family plantation. _Why does God have to witness? What purpose--what meaning does that serve? Was he a witness on September 11th? No. So why does it matter now?_

She looked up at Chase as she leaned over and grabbed the remote. She pressed "stop".

"What's up?" asked Chase, worriedly as the black screen zipped over the movie.

"What point is served in slavishly deferring to a higher power if they don't do anything for you?" she sniffed, disgusted.

"I don't know, _House_," sneered Chase pointedly. "Since when did you become an agnostic?"

"Where's the proof, Robert?" she hissed. "Where's the proof?"

"The Bible," he stated simply.

"Yeah, well I'm sure the Jews and the Muslims think they're books are proof too, but only one is true. Which one is it?"

"In your mind? That's not my decision."

Cameron shuffled her feet on the ground and began to pace the room.

"Allison," said Chase softly. "Are you alright? You've seemed... very off lately."

"I'm not _off_," she hissed grouchily.

"I'm not criticizing you, Alli, really," said Chase, putting his hands up. "I just want to know what's going on. I don't want you to feel like you're alone..."

"I'm not alone, god damnit!" she shouted, turning on her heel. "I've got you, haven't I?"

Chase blinked, and dropped his head.

"Can't you understand why I might be feeling a little bit off?" she whispered incredulously. Chase looked up and sighed.

"Allison, I know that Tuesday affected you harder than anyone else, but it's not like--"

"Like what?" she shouted. "Like I--"

"Allison!" cried Chase, his eyes narrowing in shock. "What the hell is _wrong _with you?"

Tears began to flow from her eyes, uncontrollably.

"I never told you," she sobbed, putting her fists to her mouth and rubbing the tears from her eyes. But to no avail, they kept coming.

"Never told me what?" asked Chase, standing up and walking over to her.

Cameron stood there for quite some time, just trying to control her tears. When she finally got a hold of herself, she leaned in and laid her head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

"I had a friend... she worked at the Towers... I've tried calling her over and over and over... Robert... I don't think..."

It was at this point that she broke down. Absolutely lost it. She fell to the floor on her knees and sobbed. And it wasn't the sweet, innocent little crying that princesses in movies make. It was the gasping, ugly, retching cry that made her seem more like a donkey than a human being, much less a girl. Chase brought her face to his chest and stroked her hair as she contined to cry.

It was literally thirty minutes later that Cameron finally stopped crying.

They laid there for another hour before finally falling asleep.

* * *

**A/N:** I am planning a super cool trailer for this fic to the song "Hey Jude" by the guy who sings it in "Across the Universe", I forgot his name and I'm too lazy to look it up.

Does anyone have Chameron clips from "Hunting"? If so, please PM me and we can talk.


End file.
